Overview: What would have happened if Wen hadn't been so anti-confrontational when Ray was bothering Olivia in the cafeteria that day?
Disclaimer: I do not own Lemonade Mouth, nor do I have any rights to the characters herein.
Note: This will be a multi-chapter story, eventual Wenlivia. Previously posted under my other account, Thayne M.
A/N: So how are you guys enjoying the story so far? Am I out of character, are things too choppy? I appreciate constructive criticism just as much as praise, so don't be shy!
Reviews are SINCERELY APPRECIATED!
Olivia wished she had a stronger resolve. She'd been so proud of herself for asking Wen to leave, and even managing a snappy remark when he told her he wasn't going anywhere. Then he had to go and shatter that resolve with that soft voice and those pleading blue-green eyes, and his hand on her shoulder. She didn't want to talk - she wanted everything in her life to go back to the way it had been a few weeks ago. But she couldn't stay strong around him; he had this way of making her feel…safe. Safe enough to make herself completely vulnerable. Before she knew it, she was leading him through the house and out the back door (she didn't want Gram to hear and worry even more about her), sitting across from him at the patio table and looking down at her hands. Then a third hand entered her vision, covering both of hers and squeezing lightly before pulling back again.
Wen waited until she looked up, her brown eyes round and wide, before he spoke. "Tell me what's wrong," he prompted gently.
She didn't say anything for a long beat, trying to sort it all out in her head. It was one of those things that wasn't easily explained, it was just felt with every fiber of her being. "I just," she finally started, picking at her fingernails, "Today I felt…like everyone was watching me, you know? Like people suddenly knew who I was."
Wen arched an eyebrow at her, "That's not a bad thing."
"It is for me," she frowned. "Wen, I'm good at being a nobody; I don't know how to deal with people looking at me, and knowing my name, and talking to me or about me. When I was in second grade, after my mom…" Her voice broke a little and she had to clear her throat, "After my mom was gone, there were like three months where everyone knew who I was, because of her, and they were always staring and talking and…" She looked back down at the table and said softly, "I begged my father every night to let me switch schools."
Wen didn't say anything, but he nodded solemnly; he remembered this. He remembered Olivia being different when second grade started, and all the adults exchanging sad murmurs of: "Did you hear about Kathy White?" He remembered the way pitying stares followed the girl, and the harsh rhymes of ignorant schoolchildren. "Weird Olivia White," they would sing while jumping rope at recess, "Her mommy went and died. Now all she does is cry, and eats a lot of pie." Not the most clever cadence, but Wen recalled it clearly, and the way it sent Olivia (who, adding insult to injury, had been a little chubbier than other kids at that time) inside with tears running down her face more than once.
"Maybe-" He snapped back to the present when Olivia started speaking again, slowly, as if she was working the thought out in her head as she voiced it. "Maybe this was a mistake; I don't think I can do this band thing after all."
His eyes snapped wide open, startled. No, Olivia couldn't quit the band. Forget the fact that they would be nothing without her poignant lyrics and stunningly beautiful voice, but if she quit, what excuse would Wen have to be around her as much as he had been recently? "Why?" He asked, his voice more demanding than he intended and he tried his best to make it gentler, "I know today was bad, but that doesn't mean you can't still be in the band."
She sniffled, rolling her eyes, "Yes it does. Can't you see that? I don't like having peoples' attention! I'm good at being nobody," she repeated, "I like being invisible. And Stella would never let that happen; we haven't even played our first gig and she's already got so much attention on us, I feel like I've got a neon sign hanging over my head everywhere I go." She sighed, pushing back some strands of hair that had come loose from her ponytail, "I just want to get through the next few years without trouble."
Wen stared at her for a long time before repeating, "You like being invisible."
"Yes," she told him with exasperation.
He stared even longer, making her squirm in her seat a little. "You know," he finally said with a light chuckle, "I don't believe that for one second."
"Then it's a probably a good thing that you don't have to believe it," Olivia shot back coldly, crossing her arms over her chest. She didn't like Wen telling her how she did and didn't feel.
"Olivia," he sighed again, but he was at a loss. He didn't know how to properly put it into words, but then he remembered something. His folder. He started rummaging frantically through his messenger bag until he found his ancient binder and flipped it open. Hidden amongst the doodle-filled spiral notebooks and overdue assignments, he found the cardstock folder that he kept his original piano compositions in and plopped it down on the table, his ears turning a little pink. He usually kept the folder hidden for two reasons: 1) He wasn't sure the compositions he came up with on his own were and good, and 2) there were words inked onto every bit of free space on the outside of it. Words that weren't his.
"Look," he jabbed a finger at it, trying to keep the embarrassment out of his voice. "This is not a girl that likes being invisible."
Despite herself, Olivia couldn't help but be curious, and she craned her neck to read the words scrawled on the folder. Can you see me?, they read, 'Cause I'm right here. Can you listen? 'Cause I've been trying to make you notice what it would mean to me to feel like somebody. Her lyrics, in different marker colors, over and over again. Wen pointed to one sentence in particular, which was underlined with red and bordered with blue and green; apparently, he found this one very important. I'm so tired of being invisible. She averted her gaze, because she knew he had a point, but she wasn't going to relent so easily.
"Lyrics don't necessarily have to be a true expression of the writer's life," she defended weakly. Wen just gave her a leveling gaze, but she forced herself to keep her eyes on his, "Seriously, Wen. They're just words." She rubbed her eyes, "I just need to think for a while. Alone," she added pointedly.
Wen licked his lips, not moving for a moment, hoping she might change her mind. When she didn't, he started packing up and stood to leave. She didn't even acknowledge this; she kept her eyes firmly planted on some invisible spot in the distance. "Call me later, if you want to talk," he felt the need to say, even though he knew she didn't have to be told. He'd made it clear that he was there for her, he hoped. He started walking toward the gate that led to the driveway, but stopped when he reached it; he felt like there was something more he should say, but he knew she didn't want to hear it and he wasn't sure what more he could say anyway. So he shoved his tongue back against the inside of his cheek and pushed the gate open, starting the silent walk home.
Olivia can't quit! This one thought kept running through his head. If she left, there was no more band. If she left, there was no more chance for greatness. If she left…Wen would be devastated. And he had a feeling that Stella, Mo and Charlie would be too. Though they'd only been hanging out for a few weeks, there seemed to be a special connection between the five of them - like five souls, lost and voiceless, finding each other by some miracle in the middle of an oppressive fog. Before the band came together, all they knew about each other was that Stella was the extreme new girl, Mo was the unobtainable Indian princess, Charlie was the bushy-haired space-case, Wen was the giant-sized music freak, and Olivia was…well, besides Wen, most of them probably never would have been able to pick her out of a crowd, let alone give her an identifier. Now they knew things about each other. Things like the fact that Stella, for all her drive and intellect, struggled in her classes but was ashamed to ask her parents for study help. Or that all the rhythm in the world couldn't make Charlie coordinated enough for sports, Mo was constantly obsessing over whether or not her feet were too big for her body, and Olivia had a mild Lucile Ball obsession. They were friends - true, loyal friends - that cared about each other.
That's when Wen realized his mistake. Not one that he'd made out loud, but one inside of his head that had made him handle this whole situation the wrong way. Halfway home, in the middle of the crosswalk at a busy intersection, he stopped dead in his tracks. The orange hand was flashing a warning at him in the distance and cars had started honking, but instead of hurrying across to the closer side of the road, he turned and ran back the way he came. He kept running - sun pounding on his arms, bruise pulsating under his eye, legs screaming at him to stop - until he was back outside of the red and gold house.
"Wendell, dear!" Brenda White sounded as surprised as she looked when she opened the door for him. He knew how he must look right now, doubled over and out of breath, face a multitude of colors and covered with sweat, eyes big and frantic; he probably looked like he was having a heart attack. "Did you forget something?" She looked around, as if she was expecting to find a book that wasn't theirs, or perhaps a keyboard.
Behind her, Wen spotted Olivia coming down the stairs. She paused halfway, hand stilling on her banister and brow furrowed in confusion. She didn't say anything, but she didn't need to. Wen launched straight into it. "I made a mistake."
For a moment, Brenda seemed to think he was still talking to her. A quick glance over her shoulder told her otherwise, but she stayed standing in the doorway, letting the boy talk over her shoulder. She couldn't help herself; she'd been very curious about her granddaughter's relationship with him lately, but trying to get answers from Olivia was like pulling teeth…out of the mouth of a grizzly bear. "What mistake?" She heard her granddaughter ask, so quiet that it was almost a whisper, but Wen seemed to hear her just fine. Like Brenda, it seemed he'd grown accustom to straining his ears to hear the girl's near-inaudible voice.
"When you told me you were thinking about quitting the band," Wen said the words in a rush, like there was too much to waste time breathing between them, "All I could think about what how much that would suck for us. How we wouldn't be good without you, and how I'd be miserable if our group didn't get to hang out for a couple of hours every day. And I think that a part of me was actually a little bit mad at you, because of what you'd be doing to us if you decided to leave."
Olivia's face went red with guilt and she looked away from him. Wen saw this and hurried on, "No, I'm not trying to make you feel bad, I promise. I was walking home and I was thinking about it - about how we've all become friends since that day in detention - and I realized that I was being selfish. I was over here, trying to talk you out of quitting and telling you that you don't feel what you say you feel, because I was afraid of losing this great thing we've all got going. But what I really should have been afraid of," he finally took a breath, then said slowly, "Was you being unhappy."
The girl finally looked back at him, expression open and vulnerable. She resumed walking and, once at the bottom of the stairs, came to stand behind her grandmother, listening wordlessly as Wen went on. "The band brought us together - we became friends because of it - that much is true. But now that we're friends, that's all that matters. If you quit right this second and the band was over, we wouldn't stop being friends, and I should have realized that before. This friendship is the most important thing, and I think the others would agree with me on that. If getting a lot of attention makes you uncomfortable, or if singing onstage scares you, then forget it; we don't want you to be miserable just so we can be in the spotlight for five minutes. We - I - just want you to be happy."
Brenda's hand fluttered up to her chest, covering her heart and fixing Wen with an adoring gaze. As for Olivia, she was speechless. She'd never been a big-talker in the first place, but now she was literally speechless. She just stared at Wen, mouth hanging open slightly, fingers shaking so severely that she had to clasp her hands together behind her back.
There was an awkward pause, no one sure of what to say next, eventually broken by Wen. He gave both women an unsure grin and said, "Whatever you decide, we're behind you completely. Nothing's going to change between the five of us - I can guarantee that - so don't let us affect your decision. Just give us a call when you know what you want to do." That was meant to be it, but he couldn't stop himself from adding, "Oh, and for whatever it's worth…you've never been invisible to me." With that, he hitched up his bag and hopped off of the porch. This time, he only walked a block or two before realizing he was both physically and mentally exhausted, and he just couldn't muster up the energy required to walk back to his house. So he plopped himself down in a little coffee shop and dialed his father's number, asking for a ride. He couldn't even be annoyed when he sent Sydney instead; he spent the entire drive staring out the window, making absent noises to appease the chattering woman while his thoughts stayed only on Olivia.
"Wen," a voice whispered. When they'd gotten home the night before, the keyboardist had gone straight to his room and flopped down on his bed, falling asleep within seconds. He must have slept straight through dinner and the traditional Tuesday night movie, because his bedside clock read 7:13AM when his little sister woke him. "Dad says you better get up 'cause we're leaving in fifteen minutes."
He groaned, his face searing with pain when he attempted to rub the sleep out of his eyes. "Thanks, Georgie," he yawned, and that hurt a little too, "I'll be down in a minute; will you grab me a muffin?"
"Sure." After a moment, however, the little girl still hadn't moved. Wen fixed her with a questioning look and she asked carefully, "What happened to your face?"
He sniffed and sat up in bed, touching the bruise carefully, "I got into a fight. Don't ever get into a fight," he added in a warning big-brother tone, "It's stupid and dangerous."
"Then how come you did it?"
He wasn't sure how to answer this. He'd done it to help a friend, which was probably the only good reason to get into a fight, but the desire to be a good influence on his sister wouldn't allow him to give this explanation. Luckily, his phone chose that moment to chime loudly, alerting him to a new text message. Georgie seemed to be distracted by it as well, reaching to get the phone from his dresser and handing it to him. "Thank you," he said again, stretching out his leg to give her a little kick on the butt, "Now get out of here so I can get dressed."
"'Kay!" She started skipping toward the door, pulling it shut behind her.
"And don't forget my muffin!" He called after her before tossing his blanket off and standing, stretching his arms and legs before opening the new text. Part of him hoped it was Olivia, just to hear from her, but another part hoped it was anyone else, so he wouldn't have to start his day off knowing that the band was history. The latter wish was granted, and he found a text from Stella. She either felt very strongly about this particular message or she hadn't been paying attention to her Shift key, because it was in all caps:
M C W - LUNCH IN MRS R'S ROOM. URGENT BAND MEETING. NAME & NEW SONG. BE ON TIME, BRING LEMONADE. - S
Wen wasn't too worried about the message itself - Stella was pretty intense about everything, so this was nothing new - but he did find it a little disheartening that it was only addressed to Mo, Charlie and himself. She'd really done it, hadn't she? Olivia had quit.